It was the summer of 1970. I was heading to Sanger, California, my birthplace and the

birthplace of my father, to interview for a teaching position at the high school, dad’s high

school. I was driving a lowered, white 1964 Chevy. It had a tiny half-size metal steering

wheel and chrome reverse rims. I had spent hours cleaning it up and waxing it for this very

day. I arrived about an hour early, a habit that continues to this day. I would rather be an

hour early than a minute late to a meeting or appointment. Even though I was born in

Sanger, I had only lived there for the first six months of my life. I did feel a very strong

connection since dad had told me many stories over the years of his childhood days and his

time at Sanger High School. Those stories seemed magical. I was now to interview to teach

at Dad’s high school. I could barely contain my emotions. I drove by the famous Chuck

Wagon restaurant with that intoxicating smell of chili dogs and on to the small downtown. It

was like I was floating. On 7 th street, I made a quick U turn across from Tejerian’s Clothing

Store and pulled into a parking spot for just a minute to soak in the experience. I backed out

and headed west toward P street to go to my interview. I looked into the rearview mirror and

to my surprise, I saw a Sanger Police Car with its lights on. I pulled over and the officer

asked for my license. He said I had made an illegal U turn on 7 th ? He asked why I was in

town. I told him about the interview at the high school. He was a Sanger graduate. He let me

off with a warning and a good luck wish. I got the job and thus began a 50-year love affair

with Sanger. Now that’s Good News.

I can taste them now even though my mother-in-law has been gone for many years. Hot beef

sandwiches. It was November of 1969 and Thanksgiving. I had taken a flight from Fresno to

Baltimore, Maryland with a destination of York, Pennsylvania where I was to join Dot. I was

planning to ask her to be my wife and to ask her father for her hand in marriage. My flight

schedule got me into Baltimore about 7:30 in the evening and Dot’s father picked me up. We

made the one-hour trip through the rain and cold to York. We arrived sometime just before

10 pm. I grabbed my bags and we walked up the long, icy walkway to the front door.

Because of polio, I was particularly careful when walking on icy surfaces, besides I wanted

to make a good first impression and not end up on my rear. As the door opened, I will never

forget that smell. It was an aroma that sparked an intense interest. Hot beef. It was alluring.

I was asking for Dot’s hand in marriage and her mom had fixed hot beef sandwiches with

brown gravy as a greeting. I hate to confess it but I found myself thinking almost as much

about that hot beef sandwich as I did about greeting Dot. A big hug and kiss changed

that…at least temporarily. After appropriate introductions, my mother-in-law to be invited

me to the kitchen and placed before me a hot beef sandwich on toast smothered with brown

gravy. I just knew that this was going to be a marriage…made in heaven. Dot, hot beef

sandwiches, and gravy. What a great start. Now that’s Good News.

Back in the early 1970s, my wife and I didn’t have much money but because we were

teachers, we had the whole summer. And, we had a 1969 VW Bug that got great mileage and

gas was cheap so we thought we’d go to Kansas City to visit my wife’s parents who were

attending a church convention. You can imagine two people and their luggage crammed into

a VW Bug. Just as we were about to leave, my wife’s brother arrived with his laundry basket

full of just washed clothes which he proceeded to dump into his suitcase and throw into the

back seat. He, too, decided he was going to Kansas City. That’s right! Three of us in a VW

Bug crowded together for a 4,000 mile roundtrip adventure. I threw on top what I thought

was a small 3 man tent with the expectation of camping along the side of the road since we

couldn’t afford even a motel 6 room back in those days. As it turned out, I mistakenly

grabbed the 1 man tent. For the next two weeks, three of us in a one-man tent camped in

many undesignated areas and often set up after dark in these strange places. One night we

ended up on an ant hill next to a cow pasture about 8 feet off of the highway and awoke to

two cow heads peering into our three-person one man tent. But you know, even with all of

the misadventures of that trip and only $125, I wouldn’t trade it for any of the 5 star hotels I

have stayed in since. Money doesn’t create memories, people do. Now that’s Good News.

It may not seem like much, but for most of my first thirty years of life with polio, I only had

one pair of shoes to wear at a time. That’s right. One pair. That one pair of shoes, always

black, was worn for every occasion…work, play, or fancy dress. I learned to take pretty

good care of that one pair of shoes. Back in the fifties, sixties, and much of the seventies, the

way that a brace was manufactured and personally handcrafted for each polio patient, the

shoe was permanently attached to the brace. There was no such thing as changing shoes

unless you could afford to own two braces and have a pair of shoes attached to each brace. I

could not afford to own two braces. I must confess, though, that I never felt like I was

deprived of anything. One pair of shoes was all I knew. I learned some valuable lessons

during those years that impacted me for the rest of my life. I learned that life could be good,

actually great, even when I didn’t have much. My life satisfaction was not decided by a

closet full of shoes but by learning to be content with what I had. I’m so thankful for those

early lessons in life because they made me appreciate what I have and not feel like I always

needed to add more stuff in order to have a good life. Though now, I do admit, because of

technology, I do have more than one pair of shoes and I like it. Now that’s Good News.

52. 52 and counting years! Wow! That’s a big number. That’s a lot of years. That’s how

many years my wife, Dot, and I have been married. June 13, 1970. We were just kids with

hopes and dreams and likes and dislikes and we were just beginning to have thoughts about

each other. How could we ever image what it would be like 52 years later? We are still

thrilled with each other, and she still laughs at my silly jokes and I still marvel at her beauty,

inside and out. How did we become a part of a diminishing statistic of marital longevity?

We had our share of times that were hard between us. While we always loved each other, I

know there were times in those 52 years when we didn’t like each other completely. I know

it had to be harder on her than on me. Guys, as you know, are pretty much clueless when it

comes to understanding their marriage partner. I can remember some looks over those 52

years of “how in the world do you not know that?” My response often was “what?” I

thought things were going along so well. As I said, “clueless.” But you know what began to

happen, I actually began to “get it.” I began to understand that there was more to life than

football and golf. I didn’t die if I missed a game. After 52 years, I miss a game now and

then and Dot doesn’t ask me if I am playing golf this week, she knows I am. Bliss at last. Of

course, I have just come to realize though that when I play golf she has 5 uninterrupted hours

all to herself. Only took 52 years to get it. Got it! Now that’s Good News.

My dad is a hero. Plain and simple. I know what you are thinking. Every kid thinks his dad

is a hero. But my dad is a hero. It was 1965 when my younger brother and I were in high

school and we had both just learned how to drive. We were in a 1960 Chevy Bel Air. It was

green, not my favorite color. My brother was driving the family to an event in Sanger on old

180, a two-lane disaster of a highway. It was night and the weather was not very good. In

the front seat were my brother, my sister, and me. In the back seat were my dad, my mom,

and my youngest brother. Out of nowhere, a car heading toward us veered into our lane and

my brother only had time to hold on to the steering wheel as we crashed. Our car careened

off to the right into a muddy field and was sitting precariously in the mud. By the time we

realized what had happened; my dad had already gotten out of the car and saw the headlights

of the car that hit us out further in the field. He started running toward that car. We couldn’t

figure out what he was doing. After a couple of seconds, we saw dad jump on the car and

reach through the broken driver side window and frantically reach through the steering wheel

to the column mounted transmission stick and jam it into park. The car came to an abrupt

stop. Dad came back to check on us. Then we saw the circles that the car had been making.

The next circle would have driven the car directly into our stopped car and, without a doubt;

none of us would be alive today. I have marveled over the years at this humble, unassuming

man. My dad was a hero. Now that’s Good News.

What a great time I had this Primary Election Season and how I look forward to the General

Election in November. And I’m not even running for office. I was invited to offer some

political analysis and asked to do some prognosticating with regard to some of the candidates

who did run for office. I remember very well my first run for public office and not getting

elected. It was tougher on my family than on me. I didn’t have any clue how much they

would be impacted by my seeking office. They lived and breathed the whole experience and

took it all very personally. I am sure given the chance; they would have busted a few noses

for some of the inappropriate personal comments directed at me. Somehow, I was able to let

it roll off. I have been blessed that way. One of the things I tried to do as I offered some

words of insight into several key races was to ask the public to evaluate each candidate on

what they said they would do, not on what they didn’t like about their opponent. After all, I

already know what I like or don’t like about someone who is seeking re-election. I don’t like

hearing it from their opponent. I want to let all of you candidates who are still in the running

in the General Election know something: give me your ideas, your plans, and your thoughts.

I will guarantee you that if you don’t talk about your opponent, then I will evaluate you on

your words and not on their words about you. Wouldn’t it be amazing if every candidate did

that! There would be a lot more happy families and voters. Now that’s Good News.

I have been invited to speak at dozens of graduation and baccalaureate events over the years.

I always jump at the chance to do so. You see, the first question I tried to answer the first

time I was asked to speak was this: What would I have wanted to know from someone as I

headed off into this bright new world awaiting me after graduation? What words of wisdom

could have helped me be a better person, be better prepared for what I would face, and be

more likely to handle the challenges that were out there? It was really quite simple: It was

this: Adversity is not your enemy but is central to your success as a person. I have learned

my greatest lessons by going through difficult times and challenges and not by the many

successes that I have had. Don’t get me wrong; I love the successes and I am very grateful

for them but my character was developed much more by the hard times than by the good

times. I had to learn that life does not always work out the way you want but that you do not

have to be defined by the negatives. I applied for many promotions in one of the school

districts where I worked and I finished number 1 in those interviews and I still didn’t get the

promotion. As it turned out, if I had gotten any one of them I would not have ended up the

Fresno County Superintendent of Schools. I would have stayed where I was. My world was

expanded beyond even my biggest dreams because of promotions that I didn’t get. What

great lessons await our kids if they will just learn to be patient. Now that’s Good News.

They say you go full circle in life. I guess that is what’s happening to me. I have been

thinking more and more about my days in elementary school and all of the things I learned,

like who I was and what my potential was! My first five years of life were wonderful, even

with polio. I thought it was all a big game and mom and dad were there helping me play it.

Then came elementary school. Kindergarten. I was going to be away from the safety of

home and mom. How would I be accepted with a brace on my right leg? Would kids laugh

at me? It turned out that I had wonderful teachers who collaborated with mom and dad way

before there was such a label as “special needs” kids. I came to learn later that the school

district wanted me to attend a “special school” where all of my needs would be taken care of.

Mom and dad were having none of it. I was going to be in regular classes, with regular

students, with regular teachers, and do all of the regular things that regular kids did. I realize

now how special it was to have parents who advocated on my behalf and how close I came to

being in a special educational institution. Thanks to mom and dad, I went from almost being

in the institution to running the institution as Fresno County Superintendent of Schools.

Parents do make a difference when they speak up. Now that’s Good News.

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